


MasterChef, MasterDouche

by srmiller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, MasterChef AU, minty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmiller/pseuds/srmiller
Summary: Clarke joins the popular show Chef Master with the hopes of proving herself as the best home cook in the country but her first obstacle is a man by the name of Bellamy Blake who seems to hate her for absolutely no reason but a lot can change over the course of a few months and Clarke finds herself going from hate to like to love and can only hope he feels the same and wanting to make out with his stupid face doesn't negate the fact she really wants to kick his ass and win.





	

_Week 1_

It had surprised Clarke, the nickname. If he had used some generic moniker she wouldn’t have thought anything about him being a jackass but _princess_ had certain connotations, rich and privileged. How could he have possibly known that from the thirty seconds they’d been in the same room?

She and the other nineteen contestants had been in the large make-up area getting ready for the premiere of the sixth season of Chef Master when he’d walked by her and stood just over her shoulder so she could see him in her mirror.

“Can I help you?” she asked, maybe a little harshly but what was with the hovering?

“Don’t get too comfortable princess,” had been his answer and he looked angry when he walked away which didn’t make any sense. Sure, she pissed people off on occasion, but she usually did it on purpose and was well aware of when she did it and she hadn’t done shit to this guy.

And what the hell was with the princess?

Her clothes were nice, sure, but so were everyone else’s, they were going to be on TV for fuck’s sake. Well, that guy Murphy didn’t seem to care since it looked like everything he wore was stolen from his grandfather’s closet but everyone else was dressed to impress.

 “What’s up with him?” Clarke asked the super sweet and quiet make-up girl. Monroe? She’d said her name was Monroe, right?

“There’s one every season,” Monroe answered with a shrug. “Someone comes in with a chip on their shoulder. They don’t always last very long. You’re all set, how does it look?”

“It feels like a lot of makeup,” Clarke answered honestly.

“I know, it takes some getting used to but I promise it’ll look good on camera. We hang around and watch the monitors to make sure nothing looks off so we’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Clarke slid off the chair and brushed a hand down the charcoal tailored slacks tucked into her ankle boots and made sure the hem of her bright blue blouse was tucked in. “How do I look?”

“Competent,” Monroe answered with an approving smile. “And that blue was an amazing choice, you’ll stand out and it brings out your eyes.  Knock ‘em dead.”

“Are you allowed to take sides?” Clarke asked.

Monroe grinned as she started to clean her brushes. “We all get kind of attached to the people we do makeup for since we generally stick with the same people all season. It kind of becomes a competition on our end.”

“How many winners have you done make up for?”

“Two, but the others only have one each.”

Clarke nodded, better odds than she could have hoped for. “Here goes nothing.”

Following the crew member who was leading the contestants to what was supposed to look like a hallway Clarke tried to size up her competition.

Most of the people were around her age, late 20s, with two people being in their late 40s and at least one who was barely out of high school. Clarke saw the curly haired guy who’d insulted her, she’d heard someone call him Bellamy, sidle up next to the young girl. He better not be hitting on her, Clarke thought darkly, or trying to psyche her out. There was competition than there was bad sportsmanship and Clarke was preparing to interrupt them with the girl laughed and from across the small crowd Clarke could see the girl’s shoulders relax as she nodded.

Bellamy smiled and patted her shoulder in a way which Clarke would have deemed brotherly if she had any idea what that looked like.

Still, she was determined to hate him so she kept her distance until they entered the kitchen and for a moment she was too distracted by being in the Chef Master kitchen to focus on the asshole in the Henley.

She’d watched Chef Master since its first season and it had been the first glimmer of hope she could make her hobby into something more. As a latchkey kid with parents who insisted on independence Clarke had learned at an early age she could either learn to cook or she could make mac and cheese every day for the rest of her life.

So she’d learned, first through unused cookbooks she’d found in the kitchen, then by watching YouTube videos and reading food blogs. She’d gone through medical school, in fact she’d very nearly become a full-fledged doctor when she’d sent in her audition tape and-to her shock and glee-had been accepted as a contestant.

Now she was here, putting her dreams and her relationship with her mother on the line to see if she had what it took to make her own way.

After filming their reactions, and Clarke had been too awed to pay attention to her facial expressions, the same stage hand directed them to the stations which would be theirs for the remainder of their stay and _of course_ Bellamy’s station was right in front of hers. Now she was going to be forced to watch him cook for the next few months and as she watched him inspect his station she had to admit he was unnecessarily attractive.

Where did someone even get arms like that? Seriously, it was rude.

They started filming again as one of the hosts began introducing the home cooks and it was when he announced both Clarke and Bellamy came from the same area the nickname clicked. He’d smirked at her over his shoulder and Clarke realized he’d somehow recognized her as his congresswoman’s daughter which was absurd because most people didn’t even know their representative’s names much less be able to recognize their _daughter_.

So he’d know her father had been a successful engineer before his untimely death, he’d know she had a stepfather who had once been in politics himself and that her mother was a wealthy former debutante turned successful surgeon before going into public office.

All in all, it was more than she wanted most people to know about her life but whatever, he’d be attractive and she’d hate him and crush him and everything would right with the world.

The only problem with that was he was good.

She watched him multitask as they used the ingredients they’d been presented with for their first challenge and she didn’t understand how he kept track of so many things at one time without burning something but he somehow seemed to manage it.

It was completely different from her style, which she knew could be described as clinical but it was the way she worked, the way her mind worked. One thing at a time and a place for everything so nothing was forgotten.

She could practically see her best friend Wells, who was working on getting his degree in psychology, smirk at the description. Not everything has a deeper meaning, she told imaginary Wells as she checked on the temperature of her food.

_Sure it doesn’t._

Racing against the clock and her own nerves Clarke put Bellamy and everyone else out of her mind as she counted down the seconds and minutes until their time was up and when the hosts called for hands up she was pretty sure she was going to need a drink. Or a bottle.

The hosts picked the three best dishes and Clarke was disappointed when her plate wasn’t one of the top three to be tasted by the chefs, but then neither was Bellamy’s so she figured at least he wasn't doing better than her. Besides, as long as she wasn't eliminated in the second challenge she’d have another week to impress the judges. And another week and another week.

The taping ended and the contestants are told to head outside to take the vans back to the hotel but she watched Bellamy lean against the counter as he let out a heavy breath. “Jesus Christ.”

“I would have said fucking hell.”

He looked over his shoulder, surprised as she was with her response but there was a twist of his lips which could almost be a smile. He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms and there was a quick skip of her heart Clarke refused to acknowledge. “I’m trying to practice PG13 for the cameras.”

Clarke nodded and pulled off her apron, her hand coming up to touch her necklace in automatic gesture she no longer noticed. “Good call.”

He studied her for a second. “You’re good.”

It wasn’t quite a compliment but she was willing to dance around civility if he was. “You too.”

“I’ll see you next week.”

They’d see each other before then, there were meetings and talking head interviews then the flight to their first team challenge but she understood what he meant and nodded. “I’ll see you next week.”

Again, the almost smile.

“Later, princess.”

Clarke clenched her fists and suppressed a scream. _Fucking asshole._

 

_Week 2_

Clarke woke up at a time she considered too early for anything, but dragged herself and her bag of entertainment down to the lobby where the other contestants were hovering nervously. No one really knew each other yet so there was still a lot of awkwardness which Clarke would rather do without.

They were waiting for the vans to arrive to take them to the private airfield and Clarke heard one of the girls, thick blonde hair with braids, whisper excitedly to no one in particular. “Do you think it’s really going to be a private plane? I don’t think I’ve even seen one of those in real life. I hope they give us champagne.”

“It’s six o’clock in the morning,” one of the older contestants scolded.

Pissed because dude, don’t be a dick, Clarke cut in. “Add OJ to anything and it’s appropriate for six in the morning.”

Harper grinned, grateful for the backup. “Right? Mimosas on a private plane. At this point I wouldn’t even have to win to be the coolest person from my high school.”

Deciding she liked Harper, Clarke moved to sit near her so they could talk but before she could start a conversation Clarke heard Bellamy speak up from somewhere to her left.

“I’m sure Clarke’s bored by champagne and private planes by now, she probably got one for her sixteenth birthday.”

Clarke turned to glare at him, “Yeah. It was gold plated and I ate tiger for dinner.”

He rolled his eyes, “I hoped you at least tipped your stewardess.”

“It’s flight attendant,” she corrected sharply. “And tipping is actually a detriment to the economy and most people agree it would be better to just pay people more which my family does. Even on our gold plated plane.”

“Make friends quickly, huh?” Harper asked but she looked like she was barely repressing a laugh.

“He hates me,” Clarke explained though she knew she sounded a little dumbfounded. “So I have to hate him back on principal.”

“That tipping thing, is that legit?”

“I saw it on Adam Ruins Everything,” Clarke admitted. “But it makes sense doesn’t it?”

Harper and her delved into a debate on tipping because Harper had been a waitress and loved the idea of having cash at the end of every day, but as someone who managed her own trust Clarke understood the importance of knowing exactly how much money you were going to have at the end of each month.

By the time they boarded the plane Clarke considered them friends and hoped they’d end up on the same team together.

“You know, gold is really heavy,” Harper commented as she buckled herself into her seat. “I don’t think a plane could fly if it was plated in gold.”

Clarke laughed, “If you’re rich enough, you can do anything you want including defy gravity.”

Harper turned to look at her with an open mouth. “Are you rich enough to defy gravity?”

“No comment.”

“Damn, what are you doing here if you don’t need the money?”

“Money’s not everything,” Clarke answered. “In the end it can’t buy you respect and that’s what I want.”

Harper nodded and leaned over Clarke to catch the flight attendant’s attention and together they sipped mimosas and enjoyed the flight to the Southern California where their first team challenge was going to be held.

“It’s gorgeous,” Harper murmured as they headed towards a big mansion which looked as if it was decorated for a wedding. “God, look at that house.”

Clarke didn’t want to say it out loud, but she’d lived in a house like that after her father died. As a child she'd lived in a smaller, cozier place, but something about her father’s death had cause her mother to change nearly everything about her life. New career, new house, new husband. Clarke sometimes wondered if she would have been upgraded along with everything else if it such a thing was possible.

But now wasn’t the time to focus on her mother issues, not when the jerk who told Harper it was too early to drink was picking her for his team.

Bellamy was chosen for the other side which was a relief. At least she didn’t have to put up with him in the overheated and stress fill kitchen but ten minutes into cooking and Clarke changed her mind.

She’d take the asshole over the dick any day.

Her team captain’s name was Dante and he was an ineffectual leader at best so their first team challenge was shaping up to be as terrible as possible. Since they all barely knew each other Dante and the other captain, a guy by the name of Monty, had picked their teammates mostly based on recognition. Clarke didn’t know what it meant for the blue team, but it meant her red team had too many people who were good at grilling and everyone thought they were too good to do the vegetables.

She was pretty sure her lip was bleeding from the amount of times she had to bite back commands or orders to the other chefs, but damnit if their captain didn’t get his shit together they were going to lose and Clarke did not want to lose her first team challenge.

Not when Fucking Blake was on the other team.

In the end, she got into a fight with the team captain which was surely going to make its way into the final cut of the episode but at least three of her team members were on her side so there was that. Not that it mattered in the end, they lost and Clarke added Dante to her shit list for being a terrible leader and not listening to her when he should have.

She had to cook in the elimination round and it was amazing to have Harper in the balcony cheering her on. It made her feel like she wasn’t alone in this and when she was told her food was good enough to get to the next round she nearly ran up the stairs into Harper’s excited hug.

When she looked over Harper’s shoulder she saw Bellamy watching her but she couldn’t quite decipher his look before he focused back on the two remaining cooks still waiting to learn their fates. Mbege ended up being sent home which Clarke was conflicted about, she’d have preferred Dante the Dick to be sent home, but at least it wasn’t her.

 _One more week_ , she told herself like a mantra. _One more week, one more week._

 

_Week 4_

“Lobster, huh?” Bellamy remarked as they were getting ingredients in the pantry. “Probably old hat for a blueblood like yourself.”

Clarke had almost lost Harper last week, she’d gotten into a fight with her mom the day before and killing a live animal wasn’t exactly her favorite thing so when Bellamy decided to pick a fight with her she just sighed.

“Really? I don’t even think you’re trying at this point.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “Are you all right?”

“Oh, God. I’m really in a bad place if you’re showing concern over my well-being.”

“Hey, I want to kick your ass but I don’t want to do it because you got in a fight with your significant other and are sad. There’s no fun in that.”

Clarke scoffed but weirdly felt better. “And I’m all about making sure this is fun for you.”

“Finally, someone gets it.”

She didn’t want to smile but he winked at her before walking away and while he’d continued to be an ass over the past two weeks he hadn’t gone out of his way to be an ass which was an improvement.

She didn’t win, but she didn’t lose either and this week she was taking that as a victory. The fact Bellamy got second place wasn’t even enough to register on her shit list. Could a migraine lay in wait? She was pretty sure this one had been stalking her since the phone call with her mother, just waiting to strike.

“You look like you need a drink,” Harper announced when they arrived back at the hotel.

“I don’t-“

“That wasn’t a question. Trust me, you need caffeine and food, preferably with alcohol. It’ll help your headache.”

“I don’t have a headache.”

“You’ve got a terrible poker face, you should know that for the future. Besides, if you don’t need a drink, I sure as hell do. I just almost got booted out on my ass and I intend to celebrate and wallow in equal amounts with whiskey.”

Clarke allowed herself to be led into the bar located off the hotel lobby and after eating fried appetizers and a too sweet cherry coke she had to admit she felt good enough to move on to alcohol.

Harper was cool and laid back and honestly everything Clarke wished she could be. In the real world Harper surfed in the morning and was a personal trainer along with being a vegetarian and Clarke could barely convince herself to run once a week.

They were elbow deep in a debate of how good bacon was when Harper waved over Monty who had walked into the bar area with Bellamy and Clarke thought she didn’t have to ignore him, but she didn’t have to talk to him either.

But it turned out Bellamy was pro bacon and Monty was indifferent which, unfortunately, put them on the same side.

Three drinks in and Clarke was in near tears as Monty shared a story about his childhood friend.

“And then my boyfriend, Nate, walks in and I swear to God he almost shot us.” Monty twisted his face, trying desperately to look serious and not laugh. “You guys know I’m a federal agent and this is illegal, right?”

Clarke and Harper laughed as Bellamy leaned forward. “You’re not talking about Nathan Miller, are you?”

“Yeah,” Monty nodded. “Oh, shit. You’re Blake! What a small world! All this time I thought that was a first name. ”

Bellamy smiled, a little loose and lopsided from the alcohol and Clarke refused to wonder if she’d taste the whiskey on his lips if she kissed him. “We called each other by our last names, I have no idea why. Man, I don’t think I’ve talked to him in years.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have Facebook,” Monty replied as if he was deeply disappointed in his boyfriend. “Or instagram, snapchat, I think he’d have a flip phone if he didn’t have to have aps for work.”

“Does he still play video games? We wasted so much time in high school playing shit games on his 64.”

“Yeah, that was basically our entire courtship,” Monty admitted with a grin. “He’s not as good as I am, but then most people aren’t.”

“You should tell him I said hi next to you call home.”

“I’ll do that.” Monty turned to Clarke, a little unsteady in his seat. “Did you know my boyfriend too? You all grew up in the same area, right?”

“The name sounds-“

“No,” Bellamy interrupted and while he’d been civil to her thus far it seemed he suddenly remembered he didn’t like her because he glared at her from across the table. “Miller and I went to the delinquent school, Clarke went to the public school.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Monty nodded, completely unaware of the tension between Clarke and Bellamy. “Cause’s he’s dyslexic. Don’t tell the FBI that,” Monty suddenly urged. “They don’t know.”

“We’ll take it to our graves,” Harper assured him with a smile. “We should probably head up to the rooms, we have an early call time tomorrow.”

Together they stood up and headed towards the bank of elevators as Monty bemoaned the supervised calls they were allowed to have twice a week. “It feels weird talking in front of people like that, to say ‘I miss you, I love you’ while some intern with a clipboard stands three feet away.”

“Hard to have phone sex with someone listening in,” Harper added.

“Getting Nate to talk enough to have phone sex would be a miracle in itself,” Monty corrected but there was so much affection in the declaration Clarke was almost jealous. He obviously he loved his boyfriend. “I miss my boyfriend.”

Clarke patted Monty on the shoulder, her aim a little off because she couldn’t quite focus. Buzzed, she decided, definitely buzzed. “I’m sure he misses you too.”

“Yeah,” Monty sighed as the elevator doors slid open. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Harper and Monty stepped out and the doors slid closed.

Clarke knew Bellamy was on the same floor as her, they’d run into each other plenty of times going down to the van which took them to the studio, but the part of her brain which was still functioning without the haze of alcohol also knew she’d never been alone with him in the elevator while her blood alcohol inched toward .05% which wasn’t legally drunk but definitely the area where stupid things are said.

“Do you hate me because my mom’s a congresswoman?” Like that, Sober-Clarke thought with a groan. “Or is it because I didn’t go to delinquent school with you and your buddy? Because I didn’t have any control over either of those things.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ as he stepped onto their floor and she grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away. Pulling him so he was facing her, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Then what the fuck? Why are you acting like such an asshole?’

“Because you slept with my best friend’s boyfriend.”

The words were a verbal slap in the face and it took a second for her to recover. “Fin?” she asked, disbelieving. “This is about Fin?”

He shrugged. “I prefer to call him Fuckboy, but sure, we can go with Fin.”

“I-“ she was at a loss for words. Fin had been years ago, she thought she’d put that all behind her. “I didn’t know he was with your friend.”

“Raven,” he corrected and his eyes sharpened with a kind of anger she almost feel. “Her name’s Raven.”

He was angry on her behalf, Clarke realized. His friend had been hurt and he was angry. Clarke got that, she understood it, and for the first time she thought she and Bellamy might have something in common.

Stepping forward she put a hand on his arm, bare from the sleeve of his sweatshirt being pushed up to elbows, and waited for him to either slap it away or take a step back.

He did neither, instead he looked at the contact of his skin on hers-the first time they’d ever touched each other she realized-before meeting her gaze with something akin to wariness.

“I didn’t know. I never would have dated him if I’d known there was someone else.”

“Really?”

Clarke pressed her lips together, tried to stop the words she knew were about to come out of her mouth, but knew there was no use. She couldn’t stand the idea anyone would think she was capable of something like that.

“Are you sober enough to remember this in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll be sober enough to remember you promising me this goes no further than you.”

He shrugged and her hand dropped from his arm. Her fingers still tingled from the contact. “Fine, whatever.”

“I need you to promise.”

“Fuck. Fine, I promise.”

“My mom cheated on my dad.”

It sounded simple, Clarke thought with some confusion. How could such a simple sentence cause every tendon in her heart to twist with pain? “He’s my stepdad now, which I guess makes it better or whatever, but when my dad got in his car accident my mom couldn’t be reached because she’d turned her phone off to meet him at his house.”

“Is that when he-“ but it seemed Bellamy couldn’t finish the sentence. That was okay, Clarke could. Clarke _had._

“When he died? Yeah. So I would never cheat on or with someone, there is no circumstance in which I would do that to anyone. God, when I found out there was another woman I was so mortified I never saw him again.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” but he seemed genuinely surprised by her answer. “Why?”

“Fuckboy-Fin, he was Raven’s closest friend growing up, they stayed friends after. Kind of. He made it sound like he was still seeing you.”

“No,” she emphatically denied. “He tried, he called and texted but I told him once I didn’t want to see or talk to him again and after a while of me not replying he got the message.”

Bellamy studied her and it was unnerving, he was condensed energy and emotion, and she had the feeling he felt more in one hour than she did in a year and it was heady to have all that focused on her.

He nodded once, as if deciding on something.

“Fine.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop being an asshole to me?” she asked.

Bellamy grinned, open and warm and Clarke’s entire body reacted in a way she was going to blame on the alcohol.

“I’ll think about it.” He turned and headed towards his room, waving a hand as he headed down the hallway. “Night, princess.”

“Night, asshole.”

His laughter was the last thing she thought of before she went to sleep in her own room, six doors down.

 

_Week 5_

Since Bellamy and Fucking Murphy were the captains for the third team challenge Clarke knew it was going to end in disaster, there was no other way for it to go.

Murphy had won the challenge the week before and his reward for winning meant he got to pick the teams for both himself and Bellamy. Naturally, because Murphy is an asshole, he put Clarke on Bellamy’s team because they’d been at each other’s throats every week and Murphy wanted to see both of them crash and burn.

He said this with a grin as Clarke put on a blue apron.

Honestly, it should have ended in broken dishes and probably something set on fire, especially when the youngest competitor on the show got electrocuted from faulty equipment and couldn’t finish the challenge.

Bellamy had immediately dropped what he was doing to check on her, which was fucking stupid because there was nothing he could do for her but there was a lot he could do with the pork currently cooking.

“Leave her be,” Clarke snapped at Bellamy. “They’ve got medics for that.”

He looked indecisive for all five seconds before he gave a hard nod. “We’re not screwed,” he said as if he was letting the universe know. “We’re not screwed, Clarke.”

“No,” she agreed with him and in a single instant they went from adversaries to—well, not friends because she was still going to kick his ass in the end, but comrades. At least for the moment.

“I can do both,” he decided, referring to Fox’s job and his own.

“Are you sure?” she asked dubiously.

“Don’t think I’m good enough?” he challenged.

“I think you’ve only got two hands and I don’t know how you’re going to handle all of it.”

He smirked, “You’ve obviously never made dinner for six thirteen-year-olds while baking a cake and making sure they don’t set a house on fire.”

Clarke knew she looked momentarily mortified. “No. Who the hell has?”

“Me,” he said, completely seriously which opened up a can of questions Clarke was certain she’d never get the answers to. “I’m the master of multitasking so you’ll plate.”

There was no way she could have heard him properly. “What? Are you serious?”

“You’ve got a better eye for that shit than I do,” he admitted and it looked like he’d swallowed glass while he said it. “I want to kick Murphy’s ass and if that means letting you plate than that’s what I’ll do. You keep everyone in line up front and I’ll do what I can back here. Good?”

Clarke nodded, “Good.”

The hosts, along with the cameras, had gone to the back of the kitchen to question Bellamy on his decision to not be at the front inspecting the quality of the food going out to the tables. Bellamy had looked at her, Clarke could feel the weight of his eyes on her back as she plated the food. “She wants to win just as badly as I do. I mean, there’s no way the princess would risk her reputation by putting out subpar food.”

“Fuck you, Blake,” she called over her shoulder but they grinned at each other when she said it. They’d have to censor that, Clarke thought absently, or edit out the quip entirely which was a shame.

For the next twenty minutes Clarke plated food and before she could call for more pork or greens Bellamy was there at her elbow, giving her exactly what she needed and it was the least stressful challenge she’d been a part of so far. Not to there weren't still pitfalls, the bacon nearly burned when Bellamy had briefly left someone else in charge of the bacon wrapped pork but Monty had caught it before they became unsalvageable.

“I know how you and Bellamy feel about bacon,” Monty had commented when he delivered the protein to the front table.

“It’s the only way to feel about bacon,” Clarke called back as Monty headed back to his station.

She heard a ‘fuck yeah’ from the back of the kitchen which could only be Bellamy. “Not doing so great on keeping it PG13 for the cameras,” she yelled as she gave the nod to the servers to deliver the next set of plates.

Without missing a beat, and with the exact same inflection, he replied, “Hell yeah!”

The team laughed and Clarke thought as she sent the last of plates out they were totally going to win. They’d been set up to fail, by Murphy certainly, but she also suspected the judges and the producers had also been expecting the blue team to stumble and fall but they didn’t. They were going to win.

She headed back towards the kitchen area to await the call from the producers but stopped when she felt someone reach out to take her hand, her fingers still wrapped about the dish towel she held.

“You okay?”

Clarke looked over her shoulder to see Bellamy studying her carefully and she squeezed the fingers curled around hers. “Not so easy being in charge, is it?

He laughed, but it was a little unsteady. “No. It helped though, having you here.”

“Thank God for Murphy.”

Bellamy laughed again and the sound curled around her stomach. “Four words no one will ever say again.”

“I’m going to admit, I thought we were screwed when Fox had to go to the hospital to be checked out,” Monty admitted as he leaned against one of the stainless steel counters. “I don’t know how you did it, Bellamy, but we killed that challenge.”

“Murphy took what he considered were the best cooks, but they’ve all got egos the size of a cow,” Bellamy shrugged as if he didn’t have anything to do with them possibly winning and it was a just a coincidence. “We’ve got the team players over here.”

Deciding the self-deprecating thing wasn’t an act Clarke stepped forward and put both her hands on his shoulders as she met his gaze head on. “Look, you’re a terrible person, but there is absolutely no way we could have pulled this off if you weren’t the one in charge of everything. If we win, it was because of you.”

He looked stunned at the compliment and for a moment he looked like he was going to say something back but the rest of the team started congratulating Bellamy and each other so he was only able to give a nod of thanks which she returned.

Half an hour later they stood, stressfully waiting for the hokey tractor to drive through the tables. When it released a puff of blue smoke she heard her teammates yell and scream and watched as they danced around her.

Without even thinking about it, she threw her arms around Bellamy and laughed in his ear as he lifted her off the ground.

Fucking yeah.

 

_Week 6_

Clarke swallowed her nerves as she knocked on Bellamy’s door a little after ten in the evening. When he opened it he was wearing flannel pajamas, a worn blue t-shirt frayed at the sleeves, and glasses.

How had she known him almost two months without knowing he wore glasses? And not just that he wore glass, but that he wore them like some kind of hot nerd who could probably bench his own weight. For a moment, just a moment, she considered dropping the bottle she held and just jumping him.

“What are you doing here?”

Well, that dampened the lust just a tad but she ignored his surly question because she knew by now surly was his default. “You won your first challenge so we’re celebrating.”

He glanced down at the bottle she’d waved in front of his face. “You brought champagne.”

“Yeah, I had it flown over in my gold plated private jet,” she teased. “Let me in.”

He looked confused but opened the door to his suite wide enough for her to pass through.

“Open that in the bathroom,” he grumbled as he took mugs from the side table where the coffee maker sat.

“It only gets all over the place when you shake it up,” she explained as she removed the foil covering the cork. It had been a while though since she’d opened one of these, and the pang of sadness at the thought of her father was unexpected and sharp but she put it aside to feel later. Now was Bellamy’s moment so she sent him what she hoped was a bright smile as she popped out the cork and only a small amount of bubbles fell from the neck so Bellamy held out a mug so she could pour it into the cup instead of spilling it on the floor.

“Thanks.”

“You didn’t have to do this you know,” he informed her as he held out the other mug.

“God, you sound as if drinking champagne with a hot blonde is a chore.”

“Sorry,” and it sounded like he was beating himself up for everything he said. “I guess I’m just not used to…”

“Winning?” she offered. “Or drinking champagne with hot blondes?"

“Both.”

“Well, no time to get used to it like the present,” she assured him brightly as she headed towards the couch.

Only on pain of death would she admit to how long she took deciding what to wear. She hadn’t wanted to seem overly planned, but at the same time she didn’t want Bellamy to think she was a slob so she settled on the loose cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt with her hair pulled up. With her makeup gone but her legs shaved she thought it was a pretty good compromise.

She crossed her legs and leaned back against the arm of the couch so she could face him. Holding out her mug she looked him in the eye and gave herself a moment to wish for her paints so she could find the exact color combination to match the brown she saw there. “Congratulations Bellamy Blake on kicking everyone’s ass tonight, you were amazing.”

He smiled, getting into the mood. “I’d like to thank my mom for being terrible with money so I had lots of practice at making dinner with twenty dollars or less. I’d also like to thank my sister for being a picky eater as a child, forcing me to get creative to hide the vegetables.”

Clarke laughed and tapped her glass against his and took a sip, watching him over the rim of her mug to see his reaction.

“Holy shit.”

Giggling, Clarke reached for the bottle to add more champagne to his glass.

“Good, right?”

He pulled back his mug to study it, “How expensive was this?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “It was worth it. I wish had some strawberries or something.”

“Strawberries?”

“You freeze them and put them in the glass,” she explained. “But I had to work with what I had.”

Bellamy seemed to hesitate and took a large drink before reaching across the empty seat cushion to cover her knee with his hand.

She stared down at the touch, at the feel of his fingers along her skin and the breadth of his palm and there was nothing in the universe outside of this room, outside of that single point of contact. Whole worlds and entire universes revolved around this moment.

“Clarke.”

Pulling her eyes away from her knee and his hand she met his gaze and was struck by the sincerity she saw there. Bellamy was so often guarded; he could be funny or sarcastic or occasionally witty but he was never vulnerable.

There was something about it which made Clarke want to protect him.

“Thank you for this,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion. “It means a lot.”

Clarke covered his with hers, “Just don’t get used to it. I’m still going to kick your ass in the end.”

He smiled and the heaviness of the moment lifted away as he brought the mug back to his lips. “If you say so, princess.”

Halfway into the bottle they had some conspiracy show on the television and the space between them had shrunk dramatically. She was still leaning, almost laying against the side of the couch which must have meant Bellamy had slid closer to her, and since he no longer seemed quite so far away from her so she felt comfortable nudging his side with her finger. “You know why you won this challenge?”

“Because I grew up poor and making dinner with a twenty-dollar budget is something I’ve done on a regular basis most of my life? I thought we already covered this. Also, because I’m awesome.”

Clarke laughed but shook her head. “No, it’s because you had some fucking color on your plate for once.”

He looked down at his empty mug and reached for the bottle to refill both of their cups. “What do you mean?”

“Every week you make good food.”

“I make awesome food.”

“Are you one of those people who gets stuck on a word when they’re drunk?” she asked, affably. “I tend to get very tactile, so heads up on that.”

“Your feet are in my lap,” he pointed out. “I think we’re passed a heads up.”

Clarke looked at where he sat in the middle of the couch and sure enough her feet were in his lap. “Huh. When did that happen?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

His grin was a little crooked, amused and wry and did things to her which made her want to rub her thighs together, but she resisted. Barely. “Weird. Anyway. Color.”

“Right, you were educating me.”

“I was helping you,” she corrected as she sipped the now warm champagne. “You usually only have one or two colors on your plate which is bland as hell. Tonight, you had three colors and a few different shades and it looked so pretty.”

“How do you know how pretty my plate is?”

“I’m right behind you,” she reminded him. “I’ve seen everything you’ve made which is why I’m the expert here.”

He looked briefly confused. “Why aren’t I the expert?”

“No objectivity.”

“And you wanting to win this competition and beat me doesn’t make you biased?”

“I want to beat you, Blake, but I don’t want it to be because you’re afraid of adding some kale to your plate so it looks alive.”

“Fine, but then you have to put some fucking heart into your food, Clarke.”

She blinked, because he so rarely used her real name it always came as kind of a surprise to hear it roll off his tongue. She liked the way he said it. “You’re going to give me advice?”

“All I have to do is turn around to see your station,” he reminded her, and she wondered if he knew he’d dropped his hand onto her bare ankle. It was distracting. “So I’ve seen just about everything you’ve made too and it’s too damn clinical.”

Clarke resisted the urge to shift restlessly for fear he might move his hand but _god_ how was she not supposed to imagine those dark hands sliding up her legs? “I’m a doctor.”

“Not yet you’re not, and this isn’t surgery.” Bellamy sounded exasperated. “What did the judges tell you tonight? It was technically perfect but had little personality.”

“Yeah,” she grumbled. “I was there, I heard it.”

His thumb rubbed against her ankle as if to soothe. It did the opposite. “Give yourself some freedom to make mistakes, to take some risks, or you’re not going to get far enough in this competition to kick my ass.”

She thought about what he said and knew there was some truth to it but the answer seemed too vague. “Heart?”

“Why do you like cooking?”

Clarke took a sip of the wine and considered her answer. “It makes me happy.”

“Why?” he persisted.

“I don’t know.”

He squeezed her ankle, she shifted, and his hand slid to her calf. It was a start she thought wistfully. “Yes, you do.”

“Because it’s the kind of destruction which creates something,” she bit out, the words forming before she had time to overthink them. “You cut up a tomato, blend blueberries, fillet a fish, it’s destroying something but from all that you can make something new and good and life giving.”

“Put that on a plate,” he instructed her. “And you’ll win the next challenge.”

“How the hell do you put that on a plate?”

He shrugged. “You’re the artist, not me.”

Clarke nodded, deciding she would step up to the challenge. She raised her mug to him, “May the best chef win.”

“It’s going to be us in the end, princess,” he told her and it sounded like something more than just a prediction. It sounded like a prophecy.

“Yeah,” she whispered as she tapped her mug to his. “It is.”

 

_Week 7_

They continued to bicker, and argue, and call each other names the producers couldn’t put on TV but they made each other better and Clark was aware something was happening inside her heart she couldn’t quite control or contain.

That made her better too.

The competition this week was for a group teenagers turning sweet sixteen and while Harper was on her team Clarke couldn’t help but miss Bellamy. He was someone she’d gotten used to having close at hand and seeing him working across the kitchen on the other team was frustrating.

“Get your head in the game.”

Clarke looked up at Murphy. “Was that an intentional High School Music reference?”

Without answering he walked away and Clarke was left wondering what the chances were Murphy knew every word of ‘Bop to the Top.’

“You good?” Harper asked Clarke as she passed by.

“Yeah,” Clarke promised then saw Harper’s glance towards the other team and realized why everyone was suddenly checking in with her. “I’m not really that obvious, am I?”

“Eh.”

Clarke blinked as Harper shrugged her shoulders. “What does that mean?”

“You watch him a lot,” Harper explained as she made the whipped cream for the desert. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to diagnose him but can’t quite figure of what’s wrong with him.”

“That doesn’t seem flattering for either of us.”

“He fascinates you,” Harper corrected as she held out a spoon for Clarke to taste the topping. “And I don’t think he’s ever fascinated someone before.”

“That seems impossible,” Clarke argued as she nodded to indicate the whipped cream was good.

“It’s because you see him. How many people do think overlooked the pretty bartender in his life?”

“They were all idiots,” Clarke murmured.

Harper laughed, “You are so gone.”

Clarke didn’t argue the fact as they finished the dessert and when her team won by the smallest of margins she wound her way through contestants and crew members till she found Bellamy. He was sitting in a little lounge area they only ever used during breaks between shooting. “You better win this damn it.”

He looked at her, his eyes seeming to soften. Their arms were touching at nearly every point which it easy for him to nudge her. “You rooting for me, princess?”

“Someone’s got to get rid of Dante,” she evaded.

“I think they’re going to do cakes,” he commented casually and it drove her crazy he never seemed to get wired or wigged out over the eliminations. “Sweet sixteen and all.”

“Can you make a cake without corralling six 13-year-old girls, making dinner, and stopping them from setting a house on fire?”

He grinned at the call back to their first team challenge together. “I think so. What’s your favorite fruit?”

“What?”

“I’ll make you a cake,” he clarified. “I bet you had some overdone cake for your sixteenth birthday. Too much fondant and not enough frosting, yeah? You’d prefer something simple which glimmers.”

“Glimmers?”

“You’re not a glitter girl,” he decided. “But you’d like something which glimmers, like rain? So what’s your favorite fruit, Clarke Griffin?”

“Raspberry. My favorite is raspberry.”

He nodded once, “I can work with that.”

At the call to start shooting Clarke headed up to the balcony and watched him with awe as he pulled together ingredients and made what she thought might be the most beautiful cake she’d ever seen. Rich and red on the inside, the frosting was startling white with crystalized sugar over a bright red glaze on the edges.

It was beautiful and when he took his cake up to the front to be judged he looked up at the balcony and winked.

Later, he knocked on her door with his glasses perched on his nose, his cake in one hand and a carton of milk in the other.

“I talked them into letting me have the cake,” he explained as he pushed his way into the room. “Hey, Harper. Want some cake?”

She was sprawled on the floor but sat up at the prospect of food. “Always. Should I call Monty?”

“Go for it.”

Clarke watched as Harper danced over to the phone while Bellamy settled around her coffee table and she realized he had forks and something else in his hand. “Why are we having a party in my room?”

“Because it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“What?” Harper dropped the hotel phone back into its cradle. “It’s your birthday tomorrow and you didn’t say anything?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Clarke assured her before turning on Bellamy. “How did you know?”

“I have my ways,” was all he’d say as he started putting candles into the half eaten cake.

Clarke heard Harper hang up with Monty, “I told him to bring cups since we used Clarke’s earlier.”

Bellamy lit the candles and when there was a knock at the door Harper got up to answer, flicking the lights off as she went so Clarke and Bellamy were bathed in nothing but flickering candle light.

“I don’t even know what to wish for,” Clarke admitted.

In the end, with Harper and Monty and Bellamy she closed her eyes and blew out the candles, too afraid to wish for what she really wanted.

Then she opened her eyes and started laughing. “Oh my god guys. It’s pitch black in here, how are we going to find a light switch?”

“Who wants play seven minutes in heaven?” Harper asked from somewhere to Clarke’s left and in the darkness she heard them all cackle.

 

_Week 10_

“Color.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke. “What?”

“Look at your basket,” she told him with a nod. “Everything in there is the same color.”

He looked dumbly at the basket in his hand so Clarke slid closer to him, their clothes nearly touching, and covered her mic with her hand. “When you’re cooking you need to stop and think, what would impress Clarke Griffin?”

Bellamy grinned and covered his own mic which wasn’t strictly allowed but Clarke was willing to risk the backlash and apparently he was too. “And why am I trying to impress you?”

“Isn’t everyone trying to impress me?” Clarke asked as she dropped her hand because teasing aside she still needed to finish grabbing her ingredients for the high end challenge she was determined to win.

“No, I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“What a shame,” she sighed and met Bellamy’s eyes through the transparent freezer door.

He was grinning at her and it hit Clarke they were flirting with each other. Even if the producers didn’t have audio the cameras currently pinned on them would be able to pick on the body language easily enough. Unless it was all in her head?

She looked at him again and there was still that softness around his eyes, in the curve of his mouth and no, there was no way this was only in her head.

“Color, Blake.”

“Heart, Griffin,” he replied automatically but she saw him reaching for tomatoes while she turned to grab her protein.

And with her back to the cameras she took a second, just a moment, to wrap her fingers around her necklace and take a breath with the hopes of slowing down her heart rate.

She was in so, so much trouble.

Bellamy cursed a lot during this challenge and she knew he was out of his element, but he wasn’t the only one. Nearly every one of the other eight remaining contestants were floundering and Clarke felt marginally guilty she was so comfortable with ingredients her parents could afford to keep around the house so when she won it was hard to feel joy knowing she’d had an edge on everyone still at their station.

She hadn’t expected to lose anyone she loved.

It was later on that evening while she was crying in her room she heard the knock and despite her attempts to ignore it whoever was on the other side kept getting louder until she had to answer it or risk disturbing the other guests on the floor.

Pulling herself together she looked through the peephole and when she saw Bellamy standing on the other side she didn’t hesitate to open it.

“Bellamy. What are you doing here?”

“Your friend got kicked off,” he explained as he showed her the two bottles of cheap wine in his hand. “I thought we’d drink to Harper and get a little drunk.”

She pulled open the door and welcomed him in.

“Do you think the housekeepers think we’re alcoholics?”

“Drinking once a week doesn’t make you an alcoholic,” Bellamy pointed out as he followed her to the couch. “Unless you’re drinking without me.”

“I would never.”

“Corkscrew?”

“It’s around here somewhere,” Clarke assured him as she searched the top of the dresser. “I didn’t think she’d go home.”

Shit, she didn’t mean to say that, but suddenly he was behind her with his hand on her shoulder and without thinking about it she turned around and wrapped her arms around him and clung to him

His arms wrapped around her shoulders and held her tightly against him and the tears which she could have sworn had been cried out stained his shirt but he didn’t do anything but hold her and rub slow circles on her back.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“I knew people had to go home,” she hiccuped. “I just didn’t expect to care when it happened.” Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt at his back. “What am I going to do if you go?”

Bellamy’s fingers cupped the back of her neck, the weight of her braid resting against his hand. “I’m not going to leave you, princess.”

His voice was a warm vibration against her ear and she wished she could believe him.

“It’s going to be you and me at the end, remember? Besides, who’s to say you won’t be the one leaving me, huh?”

Clarke shook her head but her forehead was still pressed against his chest so the movement was minimal at best. “I’d never do that, you’d be lost without me.”

“That’s the truth.”

With a sniff she pulled back. It was so comforting being wrapped up in Bellamy, his arms around her, his body warm beneath her arms, and it would be so easy to want this for this good. She was afraid she already did.

“I can’t lose you too.”

“No matter what happens, you won’t.”

Clarke nodded, knowing she’d have to take him at his word. “I’ll get the mugs, you get open the wine.”

“Did you find the corkscrew?”

Turning enough to reach the utensil, but not enough to dislodge Bellamy’s arms, she grabbed the item and held it between them. “Thanks,” he covered her fingers with his as he took the corkscrew from her.

“Thanks right back.”

 

_Week 12_

Somehow, with seven people left, Echo hadn’t seemed to notice Clarke and Bellamy no longer hated each other because when she won her challenge and had the opportunity to team up people she thought it would be a good idea to put them together on the tag team challenge.

“I’ve seen them work well together when one or the other is in charge, but I just don’t think they’ll manage to work together when they’re both able to boss the other one around.”

Clarke pressed her lips together to resist laughing, Bellamy snorted beside her but the truth of the matter was they knew enough about each other’s cooking to be able to come up with ingredients and seasonings which matched both their tastes.

Their cooking styles, on the other hand, were still vastly different which meant the challenge was frenetic and often chaotic but the one thing they had on their side was the fact they could communicate. There weren’t always complete sentences, or entire words, so when Bellamy reached for the sauce pan and found nothing but air he growled.

“Twenty-seven percent of people are left handed,” Clarke snapped back.

“You’re going to drive to me to drinking,” he accused as he reached out with his left hand but his movements were awkward.

“A little late for that, just leave it for me.”

He looked at her with a raised brow, _You got this?_

Clarke nodded, _I got it._

Bellamy nodded and worked to his strengths which were the proteins and as Clarke did the math she realized Bellamy would be the one who would end up plating. “I’m going to have to walk you through plating.”

“I’ve gotten better,” he argued.

“I’m still better,” she quipped back. “Even if I have to use your hands to do it.”

He scoffed but it almost sounded like a laugh and then they had to switch and Bellamy walked her through what she needed to do and they switched one more time as Bellamy started plating with Clarke directing each of his movements.

“Did you taste that?” Clarke asked as he added the frosting to the cookies.

He paused with the bag full of frosting in his hand and looked at her sharply. “No, didn’t you?”

She racked her memory but couldn’t specifically remember tasting the frosting. “Yes?”

“Jesus, Clarke.”

“Taste it, just in case.”

Bellamy squirted a little bit of frosting onto a spoon and tasted it. “You’d want it to be sweeter but not everyone wants the same cavities you do.”

“Love you too, Bellamy.”

He grinned at her and was wiping down the plates as the hosts counted down the last ten seconds and when time was up Bellamy pulled Clarke to him in a kind of exhausted hug.

“Let’s not do that again anytime soon.”

“Agreed,” Clarke laughed and kept one arm hooked around his waist as he settled his on her shoulders. “Echo doesn’t look happy.”

“She’s a fucking idiot for teaming us up,” Bellamy muttered, not even looking up at the balcony where she was watching them.

“We should take her down.”

He gave her his free hand in a fist and Clarke smiled as she bumped it with her own.

One team was judged before them, Dante and Monty, and they did okay and when Monty walked back to his station he rolled his eyes at Bellamy and Clarke before shaking his head.

They all wanted to kill Dante.

“Now for Bellamy and Clarke.”

Together they brought their challenge, which had been a romantic picnic meal, to the front. “Does this count as our first date?”

Clarke looked over at him with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think it’s a date when someone else eats the food.”

“Fair point.”

They set their food down on the pedestal and waited as the judges tasted and murmured to each other. Clarke wanted to reach for his hand but didn’t want to give the cameramen anything to zoom in on, didn’t want to give the producers any more fodder than was strictly necessary.

“Echo paired you two together because she didn’t think you could work as equals,” the chef commented which Clarke knew was more for the audience than for either her or Bellamy.

“He was wrong, Chef.”

The chef smiled at Bellamy. “That he was. You two seemed to have your rhythm almost immediately and it shows you worked well together because there is a seamless combination of each of you on these plates. Clarke’s precision and Bellamy’s heart. Who plated the food?”

“I did with Bellamy’s hands,” Clarke offered, causing everyone in the kitchen to laugh.

“Well, excellent use of Bellamy’s hands.”

“Thank you.”

After a few more vague compliments Bellamy and Clarke returned to their station and as soon as they settled behind the stainless steel surfaced Bellamy reached down and took her hand and squeezed it once.

Clarke adjusted their grip so she could weave her fingers with his and squeezed back.

For better or worse, what they’d put in front of their hosts was what they were capable of together and when they heard they’d won the challenge- _they’d won-_ they immediately reached for each other and _hung on_. They’d made it another week.

Clarke tried not to think that what they’d done together was the best they’d ever done.

 

_Week 13_

Winning was amazing, until they realized winning meant they would be competitors in the next round. They still hung out, either one of them would go to the other’s room at one point or another during the night but there was lingering tension between them.

This time, winning meant they could be sending the other person home because the next challenge was a kitchen takeover, meaning the two teams took over an existing restaurant’s kitchen and served meals for an entire dining room. There were only six people left, three on each team meant there were decent odds one of them was going to go home.

Clarke thought Bellamy had the edge because he ran a bar and likely had to deal with multiple orders and bartenders and waitresses at the same time. On the other hand, the only experience she had was with caterers, which was hardly the same thing but she was a good leader and she was determined to use those skills to the best of her ability to win and afterwards…well, she wasn’t ready to think about afterwards quite yet.

When they stepped into the kitchen she was red team, he was blue and to distract themselves, and possibly each other, from the potential consequences of this challenge she and Bellamy yelled at each other across the kitchens. Throwing barbs and pieces of fruit. It calmed her, centered her, even as it gave her an edge because it eased the tension, took away some of the stress. It reminded her this could be fun, the chaos and expectations, the texture and the colors.

She had Monty on her team and, unfortunately, Dante. Bellamy had Fucking Murphy, whom he worked surprisingly well with, and Echo who was bad at taking orders and also super into Bellamy.

Bellamy, of course, didn’t realize. Clarke did, and while she was fully aware she had no right to be jealous, she was anyway because Echo was lithe and graceful and beautiful. While she had a decent amount of self-confidence and knew she was attractive, Clarke also understood there were some people who didn’t like the Mona Lisa.

She really hoped the smile Bellamy shot Echo was friendly and not flirtatious before reminding herself Bellamy wasn’t the reason she was here. Bellamy was a fringe benefit, her intent was to win Chef Master and take home the trophy.

If she could find a way to take home Bellamy too, all the better.

After the last dish was served Bellamy found his way to other side of the kitchen and leaned against counter next to Monty.

“If my boss wasn’t such an asshole I’d thank him for understaffing me all these years. That’s the only reason no one is murdered right now.”

Clarke snorted. “You realize Echo was hitting on you?”

“Huh?”

“During that whole challenge.”

“Well,” Monty cut in. “Throughout the whole competition but she was really going for it that last hour.”

“If she wanted to hit on me she should have done better with her part of the dish,” Bellamy shrugged. “Besides, I’m not interested.”

“Not going to make bedfellows of the competition?” Monty asked.

“It’s not that, I’m just not interested in her. She seems like the kind of person who would stand behind you right up until she walked all over you. I don’t want someone who is going root for me on and then stab me in the back.”

“I thought she was going to walk all over you?” Monty teased.

Bellamy smiled and shook his head, “Either way. I’d rather someone who rooted for me and would be there no matter who came out ahead.”

It couldn’t be a coincidence, Clarke thought while blood rushed to her head. It couldn’t be a coincidence he looked at her as he said that. Maybe there was a chance for more than a crush, maybe she and Bellamy could-

“Come on guys,” a crewmember called from kitchen door. “Time to find out who won.”

Bellamy gave her a kind of apologetic half smile as they pushed off the counter and headed towards the door and Clarke cursed the universe, and herself, for such terrible timing.

Honestly, it should be easier to figure out if a guy liked her or not.

They all got touch ups from makeup, most of it having been sweated off in the kitchen, and then waited with near patience as the cameras started rolling and the chefs recapped the challenge before announcing red team had won.

Clarke cheered and hugged Monty, over his shoulder she saw Bellamy bow gracefully and then, where the cameras couldn’t see, flipped her off.

She might not know how Bellamy felt about her, but she was pretty sure she was in love.

The next day they gathered in the kitchen. Clarke, Monty, and Dante headed up to the balcony while Bellamy, Echo, and Murphy stood at their stations to get their challenge.

There was a time or two she’d been in an elimination cook off and Clarke could easily and vividly remember the terror and panic, the nerves at knowing every single thing she did counted towards whether or not she’d stay another week.

She honestly hadn’t thought there was anything in this competition which could make her feel more frazzled but apparently being in the balcony while Bellamy cooked to save his spot in the competition was one of them.

Clarke couldn’t imagine this competition without him in it, they’d battled and argued and slipped into each other’s hotel rooms late at night to bitch about the other contestants over swiped bottles of alcohol and the idea he could be gone was enough to knock the breath out of her lungs.

They’d get a chance to say goodbye, she reminded herself as she cheered him on. No matter what the TV showed, there was time after the exit for the competitors to say their farewells but the idea of watching Bellamy walk away and out of her life was nothing short of terrifying.

She wanted him by her side till the very end and if she didn’t win this competition, then it should be him.

But damnit, she wanted to win.

“You’re not worried about me, are you princess?”

“I’m worried about that fish,” she called back and was proud there wasn’t anything resembling a catch in her voice. “I think it’s still swimming.”

“All in good time,” he assured her.

Clarke glanced at Echo, saw she was out of sorts and losing control of her station and Clarke couldn’t help the spurt of satisfaction at seeing her competition barely treading water. Murphy was also fumbling with the temperamental fish and Clarke could only hope it was one of them who went home at the end of the night.

Murphy was sent up to the balcony first, much to Clarke’s chagrin, but it was Echo who went home and it was Clarke who went running down the stairs into Bellamy’s arms as soon Echo had left the kitchen.

He seemed surprised at first at the sudden show of affection but after a moment’s hesitation he wrapped his arms around her and picked her a few inches off the ground.

“One more week,” he breathed into her ear.

“One more week,” she agreed with her head in the curve of his shoulder. It didn’t even occur to her to wonder if anyone was watching.

 

_Week 14_

“Tonight, we have some very special guests,” the host announced gleefully. The contestants were standing side by side at the front of the kitchen while the chefs gleefully teased the next challenge. “We’ve had you feed teenagers, fellow chefs, strangers off the streets, and each one of those meals has been important because they counted towards you being here tonight. In the top five.”

Top five, Clarke repeated to herself with a sense of wonder.

This was where she’d pictured herself, but she hadn’t actually allowed herself to think it might actually be possible. Top five out of thousands of people. It was validation and it meant there were only four people between her and the trophy.

Well, three people and Bellamy.

“But having said that I think you’ll find our guests tonight, and the meals you’ll prepare, to be the most important ones so far in this competition. Oh, and you might recognize our guests tonight as they flew in especially for you.”

Clarke’s eyes flew back to the doors and saw, with shock and a little awe, a tall black man with a mile-wide grin walked into the kitchen.

“Clarke, your best friend Wells has joined us tonight.”

She covered her mouth to hold back any embarrassing sounds she might make, but when Wells reached her Clarke wrapped her arms around his middle and squeeze him tightly. She heard in the background as other family members were introduced but it wasn’t until she heard the delighted scream of a female Clarke brought her attention back to the here and now.

Pulling back just an inch Clarke watched as a willowy brunette ran across the floor and jumped into Bellamy’s arms.

“Well,” the other host laughed. “I guess you recognize our last guest Bellamy, your sister Octavia.”

He seemed completely unaware people could see him as he buried his face in her hair and just held on.

“Missed me?” Clarke heard the girl ask.

He laughed softly. “Jesus, O.”

Octavia pulled back and looked around the room, her eyes briefly falling on Clarke. “This is fucking awesome, Bell.”

“Language,” he scolded almost absently as his arm wound its way around his sister’s shoulder.

“That’s him, huh?”

Wells’ voice came from above Clarke’s shoulder and she nodded because she knew the mics were still on. “God, I’m so happy to see you. I can’t believe you actually left for school for this.”

“It took some convincing by the producers,” he admitted. “But I figured you needed me.”

“I did,” she admitted and hugged him again. The producers told the guests to head up to the balcony and asked the cooks to head towards their stations. Clarke saw a small box had been placed on her counter.

“Your guest was told to pick one ingredient for you to make the star of your dish,” the host announced. “Please open your boxes.”

Clarke opened hers and smiled when she saw what was inside.

“Now, you have sixty minutes to make us a dish with your unique ingredient. Ready, set, begin!”

The home cooks headed towards the pantry and started grabbing ingredients and Clarke was trying not to second guess her meal plan when Bellamy came up behind her. Instead of moving or asking her to shift to one side or another, he reached around her, close enough she could feel his chest against her back, and grabbed a package of bacon.

“That’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathed. Bellamy moved towards the door.

He nodded and switched his basket from one hand to another. “If they let us, we should all get together tonight.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed. “We should.”

With a small smile he stepped out of the pantry and headed towards his station and Clarke quickly followed. Spreading out and organizing her station before she started to cook anything.

The hosts started walking through the kitchen, talking to Clarke’s competition, but she didn’t pay attention until they made it to Bellamy’s area.

“So it looks like your sister gave you bacon, which is a great ingredient but not the easiest to make the focal point of a meal.”

“I wouldn't say that," Clarke heard Bellamy argue. “I’m making my sister’s favorite dish from when she was a kid.”

“Oh my God, Bell.”

Bellamy shook his head when Octavia yelled down at him and Clarke saw him grin even as he ignored his sister. “When she was seven I made her bacon wrapped potatoes to trick her into eating vegetables so I’m going to make a selection of bacon wrapped foods.”

“But elevated, right?”

Bellamy grinned up at the balcony. “Yeah, O. Elevated.”

“Really, with the asparagus?”

“You got to eat your veggies, O.”

Clarke was smiling when the chefs came to her. “What did your best friend pick for you?”

“Wells, in all his wisdom, picked blueberries.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“My best friend has a funny sense of humor,” Clarke answered, glaring at the man in question who was grinning maniacally. “He knows I don’t like blueberries so this is his way of forcing me eat them because we have to taste everything as we’re making it.”

“So what are you making?”

“I’m making blueberry tarts,” Clarke answered. “Wells is a breakfast guy, so I’m going with that.”

“Good luck,” the chef said before heading back to Fucking Murphy who was cooking something for his wife.

“Psst, Bellamy.”

Turning around Clarke nodded behind her and mouthed. “Fucking Murphy is fucking married?”

Bellamy laughed. “To each their own, Clarke. They’re talking to each other.”

Clarke was confused until Bellamy looked up towards the balcony where she saw Octavia and Wells talking to each other and laughing. After a second they shook hands and leaned towards each other like conspirators. “I don’t trust that.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed with a grin. “Me neither.”

When it was time to present their dishes Clarke got a decent response, Murphy was praised, Monty was given a nod of approval, Clarke didn’t listen to whatever the hell Dante did. Bellamy’s dish of multiple things wrapped in bacon was set on the pedestal and the chefs asked Bellamy about his sister and his reaction at seeing her.

“She’s literally the inspiration for everything I’ve ever done. My life didn’t really start until she was born and having her up in the balcony cheering me on, there’s literally nothing that can stop me tonight.”

Clarke couldn’t see his face, but he sounded like he was getting choked up and when she looked up into the balcony, Octavia was wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

“Well, if this dish tastes anything like it looks, I’d have to agree with you.”

In the end, Bellamy won and got the advantage for the next round of cooking. The guests were spirited away as the other cooks were forced to go against each other in an elimination which resulted in Murphy leaving.

Clarke tried not to be gleeful about it, but she was just glad it was someone other than Monty or Bellamy so as she was sitting in Bellamy’s room with Octavia, and Wells, she toasted to the fact they were all still there for another week.

“You’re a terrible person,” Bellamy pointed out. "You guys should have seen her last week when Echo left."

“It was time for her to go.”

“You’d rather she go than Dante?” Bellamy challenged.

“I’d have been happy with either,” Clarke admitted. “But she was trying way too hard to get in your pants.”

Octavia looked like she’d just smelled blood in the water. “You’ve got girls hitting on you Bell?”

“I don’t think-“ he stopped when there was a knock at the door. “Thank God.”

Bellamy got up to answer the door so Clarke turned in her seat to see who it was and watched as Bellamy greeted Monty and then hugged the black man who had been his guest at the show earlier in the day.

“Guys, this is Miller. We knew each other in high school. Miller, this is Clarke, her friend Wells, and you might remember my sister Octavia.”

Miller smiled, “I mostly go by Nate now, but I’m not going to try and get you to change this late in the game.”

“Appreciate it.”

Miller shook everyone’s hand but hugged Octavia when she stood up with her arms out. “Hey there, Slim.”

“Where’s the beanie?”

“I got rid it.”

“But you were the beanie,” Octavia insisted as she sat back down on the floor and picked up her glass which included coke and rum she had somehow managed to get a hold of despite being underage. “You’re not you without the beanie.”

“You’ll have to get used to it,” Miller informed her with a small smile. “Now, who wants to hear stories about Nerd Blake and School?”

Clarke, Monty, and Octavia all raised their hands.

“You already know these stories, O.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy hearing them. Tell them about the time Bellamy learned about the destruction of the Library of Alexandria and cried.”

It was the most fun she’d had in weeks. Wells was an easy going guy and made friends quickly, Miller was a man of few words but could tell a story better than anyone Clarke had ever met. They ordered pizza, laughed and drank and told stories until it was late enough everyone was practically sleeping where they were.

Wells was the first to head back to his room, followed quickly by Monty and Miller who left holding hands, and finally Octavia left with the rest of the rum saying she needed to call her boyfriend.

At two am Clarke found herself pressed against Bellamy’s side on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed as he wrapped his arm around her as if to hold her there against him.

“I want you to win.”

She thought she heard him smile, and the sober part of her brain (what was left of it) told her there was no way to hear a smile but Drunk-Clarke insisted there was. “If you want to drop out, I won’t stop you.”

“Are you saying the only way you’ll win is if I drop out?”

Bellamy laughed. “That was unintentional, but it would help my chances.”

“No, I’m not going to drop out. What I meant was, if I don’t win I want it to be you. You deserve this.”

“More than you?”

“I want the trophy,” she admitted. “I want people to know I got to where I am based on my talents, and only my talents. I know you need the money.”

“Thanks.”

Damn alcohol had stopped the filter from her brain to mouth. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. There’s no way I can open up my own place right now without that grand prize. But I want to earn it, just like you do.”

Clarke reached over to take the hand not wrapped around her shoulders and linked her fingers with his. “Can we make a promise to each other?”

“I’ll even pinky swear, and Octavia will tell you that’s a serious promise.”

She wrapped her pinky around his, “No matter who wins this we stay friends.”

“Are we friends now?” he asked, his voice low against her ear in a way which made her shiver. She hoped he thought it was because of the hotel air conditioning and not her increasingly physical reaction to him.

She pulled back a little so she could face him and it would so easy to kiss him. What would it feel like? His lips pressed against hers, arms wrapped solid and warm around her, all that lovely friction she’d been beginning to think she didn’t need or want anymore.

But she did. With him she wanted to feel all those wild and tumultuous things again. With him, she’d be prepared to risk her heart one last time.

Sober-Clarke told her not now, not tonight. He had to know she meant it and he wouldn’t think it was real if she kissed him while buzzed on rum and coke. Stupid idiot, she thought affectionately, he had no idea how much the people around him loved him.

It was hard, taking nearly all of her self-control, but she listened to Sober-Clarke and looked up from his mouth to meet his gaze and she wished he didn’t hold himself back. What would she see behind that carefully constructed wall he’d built around his soul?

“You’re one of my favorite people,” she admitted softly. “So yeah, I’d say that makes us friends.”

He squeezed his pinkie around hers, “Than, yeah. No matter what happens in the finale, we stay friends.”

“I’m going to kick your ass, Blake,” she told him but it kind of sounded like ‘I love you.’

“I’ll be ready for you Griffin,” he replied just as softly and it melted something inside her she wondered would ever be the same again.

She kind of hoped not.

Bellamy tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. “You should go to bed, Clarke. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

Clarke sighed and let herself lean into his touch, her eyes once again finding his mouth. “Yeah, probably.”

He linked his fingers with hers and tugged her off the couch before he walked her to the door. “Are you going to find your room okay?”

She smiled, “It’s just down the hall and I’m not that drunk.”

“Drink lots of water.”

Clarke leaned into him, and when he looked down at her the wall fell away and she could see affection and humor and a kind of heat which warmed her from the inside out. How had she not realized how cold she’d become? “You know, after meeting Octavia and seeing you two together, so much of you makes sense.”

“Yeah?” his fingers were playing with the strands of hair at her ears and she liked to think he did it to keep from touching her in other ways.

“You’re not just an asshole, you’re an overprotective asshole.”

Bellamy laughed and wrapped his arms around her and settled her body against his in a kind of familiar and intimate embrace. “You’ve learned all my secrets, Clarke.”

She smiled, and it felt a little loopy on her face, “Yeah? Cool.”

“Now I just need to learn all of yours.”

Clarke grimaced, “My secrets aren’t endearing like yours. We’d need something stronger than rum.”

“I’ll get a bottle after the finale and we’ll tell stories.”

“I like that,” she leaned forward, rocking up just a little on her toes to make up for the small difference in their height, and kissed his cheek. “Night, Bell.”

“Night, princess.”

She fell asleep thinking of being in Bellamy’s arm and when she woke the next morning Wells sitting in one of the chairs watching the news. “How did you get in here?”

Wells grinned at Clarke. “It’s amazing how easy it is to get a card for a room under the name Clarke Griffin when you’re a dude.”

With a groan Clarke turned over in bed and was glad she had time before heading to the studio for talking head interviews. “I’m changing my name to Patrice.”

“I think I can pull off a Patrice,” he teased. “He’s a cool guy, I like him.”

Clarke snuggled closer to her pillow and thought she was so comfortable she might never get up again. “I’m glad because I like him too. A lot.”

“I could tell.”

“We promised to be friends no matter who wins.”

“You think you can do it?”

“Yeah,” and she was surprised by the confidence in her response. “Yeah, I do. I think he likes me too.”

Wells nodded, “I got the same impression.”

“So you approve?”

Wells moved around to the other side of the bed and laid down on top of the covers beside her. “I approve.”

 

_Week 15_

“The fact Dante the Dick is still around proves there’s no justice in the world.”

Bellamy, already made up and waiting for them to start filming snorted as Monroe finished with Clarke’s hair. “Do you have terrible nicknames for everyone?”

“Just about.” Clarke slid a glance over to Bellamy, “You were asshole and Fucking Blake for a good while there.”

Instead of being insulted he just laughed. “Fair enough, but I thought Murphy was Fucking Murphy?”

“There’s enough fucking to go around,” Clarke replied with a straight face.

“You should get an HBO cooking show,” Bellamy informed her as he leaned against the makeup counter.

“Off,” Monroe scolded. “You’ll get God only knows what on your clothes.”

Bellamy shot off the table and checked his shirt for makeup.

“You’re fine,” Clarke assured him. “Am I ready?”

“In a hurry to get out there?”

“In a hurry to get it over with,” Clarke answered the makeup tech. “The closer we get the more amped up I am.”

“You need to come aboard,” Monroe suggested as she started cleaning her brushes. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t combusted.”

“Come aboard?”

“Yeah, you know, a fling away from home.” Monroe looked up and must have realized Clarke had no idea what she was talking because she smiled. “Competitions like this? Away from home, living out of a hotel, always on edge, people tend to hook up.”

Clarke nearly, nearly glanced at Bellamy but kept her eyes straight forward and didn’t try to wonder if Bellamy looked at her. “You mean with other contestants?”

“Sometimes, sometimes they’ll hook up with someone on set, one of the crew members maybe, whoever suits your fancy.”

“Doesn’t that create a conflict of interest?”

“The boom guy doesn’t get a say in whether or not you win,” Monroe pointed out. “And sure, if you hook up with the competition it can get sticky but if everyone knows the rules and acts like a mature adult, it can’t hurt.”

“That explains why Echo was desperate to get together with you before she left,” Clarke commented as she met Bellamy’s gaze through the mirror.

“I think you were vastly overestimating her interest,” he remarked. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that scary looking chic hitting on you the other day.”

“Yeah, no way I’m getting involved with a producer.”

“Okay, you’re done. Go kick some ass guys.”

“Thanks,” Clarke slid off the chair and walked with Bellamy towards the kitchen. “Can you believe this is all going to be over soon? I don’t know how I’m going to adjust to real life after living in a hotel and getting to play with all these toys every day.”

“When I win I’m buying the most expensive kitchen appliances known to man.”

Clarke smiled, “You’re welcome to borrow any of mine.”

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole when we first met.”

She looked at him, stopping just short of stepping onto the tile of the kitchen. “What made you think of that?”

“We lived in the same town most of our lives Clarke and we never met, never even knew the other existed.”

“It’s hard to believe,” she agreed.

“And the first time I heard your name it was how the rich congresswoman’s daughter had dated my best friend’s boyfriend. I made up my mind about you before I even met you, before I even got your side of the story.”

“But we’re good now, Bell.”

It was the first time she’d used his nickname and he seemed to notice, staring at her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. But I just keep thinking, what if we’d met in real life? Here we had no choice but to get along, to work together, but out there? I’d never have known what I was missing out on.”

“What if doesn’t matter,” Clarke informed him. “Things worked out the way they were supposed to and that’s what matters.”

“I never would have hooked up with Echo, you know.”

“And I never would have hooked up with the producer.”

“Cool.”

Clarke smiled, not quite sure what they were agreeing on but it felt like a step in the direction she wanted to spend the rest of her life so she nodded. “Cool.”

That evening Monty went home and Clarke cried.

She and Bellamy went up the elevators together, both frozen and numb from having to say goodbye to their friend and when the doors slid open Clarke turned to head towards her room but Bellamy stopped her with his hand.

His thumb brushed against the back of her hand and she knew she was one word away from breaking down again.

“Stay with me tonight.”

It wasn’t the kind of invitation she’d have wanted just the night before, but it was exactly what she’d needed. With linked hands they headed towards his room and once inside Bellamy reached into his drawers to pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers and without a word Clarke went into the bathroom to change.

When she came back out Bellamy had changed as well.

“Let me take out my contacts and we’ll order some food.”

Clarke nodded and pulled up the OnDemand screen and found something for them to watch. Bellamy sat in the corner of the couch when he came out of the bathroom, holding out his arm so Clarke could tuck herself against him.

“This sucks.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yeah, princess. It does.”

She circled her arms around his middle, pressed her cheek against his chest and thought it was the only place she wanted to be in the entire world. “I want mac and cheese.”

“That sounds good. I’ll order in a minute.”

Clarke nodded, not wanting him to get up, and a quiet kind of comradery they watched the movie in silence, she didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until Bellamy gently shook her awake.

“Still want to eat?”

Rubbing her eyes Clarke pulled away from Bellamy, she could feel the indention of his shirt on her cheek. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, it was an emotionally exhausting day.”

“I fell asleep on you.”

His smile was soft. “I took a nap so it wasn't just you.”

Clarke’s brain wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders yet. Once she’d fallen asleep, she’d slept deeply and she still wasn’t quite awake. “We slept together.”

Bellamy laughed. “Yeah, I guess we did. The kitchen’s going to close soon, princess. Do you still want that mac and cheese?”

“Yeah. We should get milk, and have them add bacon.”

“Anything you want.”

The movie ended and Bellamy got up to place their order with room service and less than a half hour later they were under a blanket on the couch as another movie played across the screen.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get home?”

“Take a shower in my own shower,” Bellamy answered immediately. “You?”

“I’ve got this really excellent tub,” Clarke admitted. “I miss my tub.”

He laughed as he finished his milk and set his empty plates on the table besides Clarke’s and once again he lifted his arm so she could fit herself against him.

“I’ll probably fall asleep on you again.”

“Here, scoot over for a second.” Clarke moved further to the other side of the couch and he shifted so he was half lying on the pillow. “There, now you can sleep on me and if I fall asleep I won’t get a crick in my neck.”

Clarke couldn’t find a reason to argue so she laid on Bellamy, using him as her own pillow. An hour later she woke up to the sensation of moving and realized Bellamy was carrying her to his bed. She heard a soft come from her throat as her body relaxed into the mattress.

“Your bed’s better than mine,” she commented with her eyes still closed, snot fully awake.

“You can use it anytime you want.”

“Do you come with it?” she asked as the bed dipped, Bellamy climbing onto the bed she thought and reached for him.

“Anything you want,” she thought he said but she was already going back to sleep with Bellamy’s heartbeat in her ear.

 

_Week 16_

The semi-finale consisted of a series of contests based around potatoes.

And in true reality show fashion they'd brought back a contestant the chefs had voted on to try and make it into the finale and while Clarke hadn't been surprised to see Echo she was irritated she had to once again try and send the competition home. All four of the cooks were challenged to make the perfect French Fries, which Bellamy had won. The second challenge was to make mashed potatoes from scratch, which Dante had won. The last was potato gnocchi which Clarke had won.

Clarke was almost sad to see Echo go home immediately. 

And then in a twist the show was known for, the hosts announced they weren’t done.

There would be one more challenge and another contestant would go home.

Before they started baking the perfect dozen cupcakes Bellamy had looked at Clarke over her station.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

And she did.

Dante was eliminated, the finale would be filmed in two days and at the end of it either she or Bellamy would be the winners.

“Is your mom coming for the finale?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “She didn’t come to the family episode because she was busy, work stuff she couldn’t get out of I guess. Wells will be there, and that’s all that matters.”

“It’ll be nice to see Harper again.”

“Monty and Miller. And Octavia.”

“Yeah?”

“I liked her.”

“She liked you too.”

 

_Week 17_

Clarke had poured her heart and soul into her meal, and she knew the same was true for Bellamy.

They’d worked side by side in the finale, listening to their family and friends cheer and egg them on as they cooked the last meal they’d ever make in the Chef Master kitchen.

She wouldn’t have wanted to be there with anyone else and when it came down to finding out who the winner was she and Bellamy had stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands tightly wrapped around the other’s.

“This has been one of the best seasons we’ve ever had,” the host announced. “But now it’s time to find out who is the winner of Chef Master.”

Bellamy held up the hand which wasn’t holding onto Clarke and their host was obviously surprised. “If I can, I’d like to do one thing before you hand that trophy out.”

The host looked confused but after glancing at the head producer gave a nod and before Clarke could register what was happening, Bellamy was pulling her towards him and after giving her a moment to pull away his mouth crashed against hers.

 _Perfect_ , Clarke thought as she threw her arms around Bellamy’s neck and pulled him closer. It was the perfect moment for their first kiss, in front of her their friends and family (and a few million people watching at home) in the place where they’d first met, the place where they’d stopped being enemies and became friends. Became more.

“I totally should have thought of that,” she murmured, still close enough her lips brushed against his as she spoke.

He grinned, “Next time.”

Taking him at his word Clarke kissed him, felt his hands slide down her back as he titled his head to take the kiss to another level. There was heat here, she thought, and could have happily burned alive if one of the chefs hadn’t raised their voice to be heard.

“Guys? If you don’t mind, we do have a schedule to stick to.”

Clarke could feel the blush cover her cheeks and was glad Bellamy looked just the slightest bit sheepish as they turned to face the judges. “Sorry, got a little carried away there.”

“Understandable,” the host grinned. “But let’s get to the results shall we?”

Clarke heard them announce the winner and almost immediately she and Bellamy were wrapped up in each other again, kissing in between the smiles and laughter as family members and friends came down from the balcony with congratulations.

Eventually they were pulled away from each other but later that night as they lay in Bellamy’s bed they stared at the silly glass trophy sitting on the dresser next to the TV.

His arms were wrapped around her, just like she’d imagined, and pressed against his side as she was she could their clothes strewn about the room and smiled.

It was like cooking together, she’d thought with a grin, a bit frenetic but as soon as they found their rhythm they’d made magic. She’d have bruises from his hands, and she’d left at least one mark on his neck and she was pretty sure she’d never been happier in her life.

“Well, I think we did pretty good job at staying friends after the finale.”

Clarke laughed and propped her chin on Bellamy’s chest so she could look at him. “Or a really terrible job, depending on how you look at it.”

His smile was loose and warm and Clarke wondered how many people had ever gotten to see him like this, hoped she was one of the rare and special.

“We go back home in a couple days,” he pointed out.

“We do.”

“I want to take you out, Clarke.” Bellamy traced invisible patterns on her skin with the tip of his finger and Clarke wondered if he knew how quickly he could get her to want. “When we get home, I want to come by your house and pick you up and take you to dinner.”

Clarke shifted on the bed and kissed him, long and languid. “I’ve been eating out for four months, Bellamy. How about you come and cook me dinner in my fancy kitchen and then you can take me bed?”

With a grin he rolled them over so he was looming over her. “I think you might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Clarke slid her leg along the length of his. “But I didn’t win Chef Master.”

“No,” he admitted with a mile-wide smile, his hand sliding between her legs to make her breath catch. “But you got to sleep with the person who did, and that’s pretty good.”

“Asshole.”

He laughed at her but leaned down to kiss her. “I love you.”

Clarke’s heart stopped, the entire universe focused on them in this singular moment. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair. “I love you, too.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

He looked down at her, all walls and defenses down and for a moment, she saw into his soul. “That was even better than winning.”

 

_Where Are They Now?_

Bellamy and Clarke’s season of Master Chef was the highest rated season in the show’s history and their finale broke records. There were gifs of them on the internet which Clarke found bizarre but for some reason made Bellamy infinitely happy.

By the time the next season aired they were working on opening their restaurant, _Rebel,_ and they frequently argued whether it was pronounced “rebel without a cause” or “this is a rebellion; I rebel” but that’s what happens when you come up with your restaurant name in the middle of the night, write it down, and show it to your live in boyfriend the next morning without ever saying the word out loud.

It wasn’t until four months later when Wells asked them about it they realized they were thinking of two different words but by that point they were both too attached to change it so they bickered, argued, and laughed about it at the end of every night as they decided on color schemes, menus, and furniture.

The night before their soft opening Clarke had been lying in bed with Bellamy. Both of them had been unable to sleep so Bellamy suggested they go to the restaurant just to reassure themselves they’d done everything they could to prepare.

As Clarke walked in she’d been floored by the fact it was real, this wild dream of theirs, made up of wood, glass, and stone. A combination of her style and his substance, and while Clarke’s mother had cautioned her daughter about the failure rate of restaurants, about starting a business with a man she wasn’t married to, Clarke had never doubted this was the right thing to do.

“I couldn’t imagine doing this without you,” Clarke murmured.

“It had to be us,” Bellamy agreed. “Or not at all. So what’s it going to be, princess? Rebel without a cause, or I rebel?”

“You’re letting me choose?”

He shrugged. “I got the trophy,” he explained. “Figure you should get to name the place.”

“Rebel without a cause,” she’d decided immediately and he rolled his eyes but agree with a nod.

“Rebel without a cause it is.”

The next afternoon they welcomed friends and family and a camera crew into Rebel to make sure everything went smoothly before their grand opening the next week.

Monty and Miller had come, Octavia with her boyfriend, even Harper had flown in from the other side of the country just for the occasion. Even Fucking Murphy and his super badass wife had shown up to congratulate them but insisted it was just for the free food.

Clarke was basking in the awesomeness of the moment when Wells found her sitting at the bar.

“It’s amazing what you guys have managed to accomplish in a little over year.”

“I keep thinking this can’t really be my life,” Clarke admitted. “I have a super-hot, super amazing boyfriend, and an incredibly cool restaurant where people can have excellent food and hang out filled with people who love and support me and my super-hot boyfriend.”

Wells smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you talk to your mom today?”

Clarke didn’t even sigh, just nodded once. “Yeah, she sends her best and apologizes for not being able to make it. The flowers over there at the end of the bar are from her to me and Bellamy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke assured him and she meant it. Bellamy had questioned her nonstop over the past week making sure she wasn’t going to break down or something at not having her mother there for the opening of her dream restaurant but the truth was she didn’t need her mom there to feel loved and successful. “I’ve got a ton of people here who love me, and Fucking Murphy who likes me, and that’s enough.”

Wells studied her for a few seconds before nodding, as if deciding for himself she would make it through the day without an emotional crisis. “Have you talked to Bellamy?”

“Every day.”

“Not what I meant.”

Clarke snorted, “I know.”

“And?”

“I’m going to talk to him today,” Clarke assured him. “After everyone goes home and I can have him to myself. It’s not the kind of thing I want to mention in between appetizers and entrees.”

“Fair enough, do you think he’ll be excited?”

“It’s not something we’ve explicitly talked about, but yeah, I think he’ll be excited.”

“Text me when you’ve told him, I want to hear how he reacted.”

Clarke agreed and then nodded towards the end of the bar where Harper was talking to Miller and laughing. “You should go talk to her.”

Wells looked over to where she gestured. “I should?”

“You two would totally hit it off.”

Turning to look at Harper again Wells nodded slowly. “If you think so.”

Clarke slid off the stool and kissed Wells’ cheek. “I think so.”

By the end of the night, Clarke was exhausted. She had taped seventeen episodes, opened a restaurant, and suffered pneumonia in the past 18 months but she didn’t think she’d ever been this tired in her life.

Naturally, she found Bellamy in the kitchen playing with his knives, pretending to cook something in their stainless steel kitchen.

“How are you not curled up in a ball somewhere passed out?”

He had cooked most of the day while Clarke had mingled with the guests and kept an eye on the staff to make sure nothing came up so if she was tired he should be dead.

“Can’t seem to settle,” he admitted, holding out a piece of carrot which she ate from his fingers. “You ready to go home?”

“Yeah, but I need to talk to you.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“I need to talk to you when you’re not holding something sharp.”

He flashed her a sharp grin, “What exactly do you want to talk about? Are you worried I’m going to murder you?”

“I’m worried you’re going to cut yourself,” she laughed as she put her hand over his wrist to still him. “Put the knife down.”

Bellamy deliberately set the blade aside and leaned a hip against the counter to face her. “Okay princess, what do you need to talk to me about?”

“Did you like raising Octavia?”

He furrowed his brows, confused. “Uh, I didn’t hate it but I think I would have liked to have been an actual teenager instead of a quasi-parent. Why?”

“Would you want to do it again?”

“Raise Octavia?”

“Raise a kid,” she corrected, her heart beating madly against her ribs. “Would you want to raise a kid again?”

Bellamy stilled, she saw his entire body pause as if he’d shutdown and she tried to keep her face neutral as he studied her face carefully. “Clarke? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you think what I’m saying is that I’m two months pregnant, yes.”

His reaction was golden bright and it would keep Clarke warm and loved for the rest of her life but when he tried to kiss her his smile got in the way. “So you’re happy, yeah?”

There were tears in his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Fuck yeah, I’m happy. Can I tell Octavia?”

“And her boyfriend if you want,” Clarke assured him. “Mostly because I’ve already told Wells, but I’d keep it quiet from anyone else for at least another month just to be safe.”

“We’re a family.”

“You bet your ass we are.”

 

Five months later Clarke and Bellamy welcomed the 14 remaining contestants of season seven’s Chef Masters where they were challenged with providing food for their baby shower and Clarke marveled at how much more fun it was to be on this side of the kitchen.

Bellamy had leaned across her pregnant belly to kiss her, his eyes soft as he kissed her. “I kind of miss it.”

“Yeah?”

He looked over his shoulder to where the kitchens were set up, “I fell in love with you in those kitchens.”

“I fell in love with you in hotel rooms,” Clarke admitted with a smile. “But either way, I’d say we’re one hell of a success story Bellamy Blake.”

“Fuck yeah, princess.”


End file.
